Natural
by Teenage.Dream92
Summary: A delicate flip of the wrist was what he saw, a stinging of his cheek was what he felt.


**Author's Note:** Tyson and Hilary are both around 19. Basically, set after they've gotten into university and are attending classes. In Hilary's case, she's in a program across the vast oceans, of _course_ (I'm still so cliché). Tyson is still in their hometown.

**Author's Excuse:** I'm the worst for being away for 3 years (almost 4?!). Don't have a very good explanation, but if there _is_ anyone who wanted to know about the absence…there'll be some sort of excuses on my profile. But in short: I'm the worst.

**Warnings:** Just some coarse language…(I'm sorry!) (It just sort of…came out!)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Beyblade. Even after 4 long years.

**Summary:** A delicate flip of the wrist was what he saw, a stinging of his cheek was what he felt.

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><p><strong>Natural<strong>

The sound was quick and poignant, although he didn't read much into it. The fact that the time was a little after midnight, however, concerned him _just_ a little.

Nothing that could be that scary, though. Not for a recent 4-time 'blading champ.

At least, that's what he told himself as he slowly crossed the expanse of the dojo. His grandfather was sleeping in the other room – _peacefully_, for the first time in weeks – so he took care to trek to the door as quietly as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was arouse the old man's colourful commentary on the midnight visitor. Besides, even though he denied it, the guy needed his sleep…he _was_ getting older.

Tyson pushed his wandering thoughts aside as he reached the door. He knew he should have been more cautious as he pulled the entrance open, but his brain was too tired to deal with it.

"Yeah…" he said automatically, attempting to stifle a yawn. "It's past midnight, the dojo is closed—"

The receiver of his greeting was apparently not pleased. The door all but exploded open with a force that caused a gust of air to blow his hat right off his head. He all but registered the face, but clearly not fast enough.

A delicate flip of the wrist was what he saw, a stinging of his cheek was what he felt.

"_Fuck_," the word came out harsh and low, since he was afraid to make a large fuss with his Gramps just around the corner. "What the _fuck_ was that, Hil?"

"I…"

Her petite figure became more discernable as his eyes got adjusted to the darkness that surrounded them both. She was eyeing him, hands clasped tightly together, with some sort of mixed look etched onto her face. First and foremost was the anger; clear as day, it flashed agonizingly behind those auburn eyes of hers, dancing across the contours of her ashen complexion.

But Tyson had known her too long to ignore the tired way she regarded him. He knew the way her shoulders drooped after a wave of relief washed over her. He knew how her lower lip trembled when she was trying her best not to bite her lips out of anxiety. He knew that her face drained of all colour when she was especially frightened.

_Fear?_

"Jesus," he murmured, softening his tone slightly. "Don't just stand there. Get in here!"

He waited for Hilary to step in before closing the door. Her demeanour, although somewhat subdued, still carried an air of conviction, the kind that he had come to expect following any one of their fights. It was familiar, and it comforted him a little. It was like carrying a bit of their past with them, despite everything that had gone on over the past few years.

Silently he led them to the large open area of the dojo where him and the Bladebreakers used to sleep when they were over. Tonight, it was eerily silent; all of his teammates (_former_ teammates, he forced himself to think) had gone back home following the Championships.

Well, in Kai's case, he simply disappeared…without a trace. To wherever he went.

Tyson slid the door closed and turned towards Hilary pointedly, throwing her a glare.

"So? Mind explaining this?" he asked, motioning to his cheek.

His stare was met with a challenging one of her own. "What? No 'Welcome back, Hil' or 'I missed you'?" she countered, placing her hands on her hips. "Straight into those questions?"

He blinked, slightly caught off guard by her reply. He studied her somewhat quizzically, now that she was finally illuminated by light. Hilary was the same, but different. She had grown her hair out slightly, and it now cascaded to a length just below her shoulders. The curls were slightly lighter than he remembered, the waves a little less pronounced, a little less bouncy. She was wearing a pair of red heels and a thick cardigan to match overtop of her attire of a fitted pencil skirt and a plain white blouse.

"Don't tell me you forgot, dumbass," she sighed, breaking him out of his befuddled gaze.

"Wait," he jumped back, pointing his finger at her accusingly. "You're supposed to be in America, Hil!"

"Ding, ding, ding," she scowled. She turned her back towards him and sashayed across the room. Her heels clicked bitingly with every step across the hardwood floor. The motion ended with her placing a hand wearily on the far wall, slouching forwards in what looked like disappointment. "I can't believe I even came down here…"

"What…" Tyson began, running a hand through his hair rather confusedly, "I don't understand…"

"Well, you don't have to, I'm going home."

"No!" he cried, a little too loudly. Then again, more hushed, "No, don't…"

His companion viewed him with jaded eyes, saying nothing. She didn't move, either, so he took that to be a good sign.

"I _did_ miss you, Hil. But you should know that," he finally replied, throwing her a grin which he hoped would break her resolve a little.

It seemed to work, because she responded by looking up, a weak smile of her own slowly appearing across her face. "I do," she answered, absently tapping the heel of her right shoe on the floor beneath them, "but it's always nice to have some reassurance…"

He smirked. "Really, Hil? America has softened you, eh?"

"Shut up," she snapped back, without missing a beat.

For a moment, they both stood in silence. Him taking in the sight of her, in the _flesh_, for what seemed like the first time in ages. In reality, they'd seen each other just a few months ago. But he knew that time seemed to warp when it came her. When she was around, time either flew or stopped dead in its tracks. It was a little confusing; Tyson was often quite puzzled about it himself, but he never questioned it.

It just sort of…happened.

She, on the other hand, was studying her heels with what appeared to be the utmost of interest. He could tell she was avoiding his gaze, for some unknown reason. Hilary was never one to beat around the bush – she was straight and to the point, lacking the fear of confrontation. She only ever hesitated when she had something very difficult to say.

Tyson opened his mouth to say something (as he usually did) but her soft voice interrupted his attempt.

"Aren't you going…to ask?" she pondered out loud, still avoiding his watchful eye.

"Ask what?" He threw her yet another puzzled look.

This caused her to lock her fiery eyes on his own. He could see the temper flare, the gaskets of her brain churning and ticking, waiting for another comment so that she could hand his ass to him. Tyson almost wanted to laugh at the glaring anger that was directed his way, but he kept his laughter in check. As much as he hated to admit it, he was scared of her. Just a little.

"Ask what my name is," was the sarcasm-soaked reply, accompanied by a Hilary-certified eye roll. "What do you think, you dolt?"

"That's easy, you're Hil."

That trademark glare reared its head once again, causing Tyson to smile smugly back. It was easy and familiar to fall back into the rhythmic banter. After all, it had basically become second nature to them throughout their friendship.

"Well, if you don't care, I might as well leave," she said plainly, folding her arms in front of her.

"Geeze, Hil, I'm just messing with you," he sighed, realizing she was not in the mood for jokes. "What's going on? It's not like you to show up…without a warning…" Tyson pushed his hands within the pockets of his letterman jacket, pausing a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, "_especially_ with a slap to the face…"

This was true, and Hilary knew it. He watched her while she proceeded to move off the far wall a bit, pace back and forth, bite her lip, and rub her arms slowly. The nervous edge to her behaviour was so unlike her, but it wasn't like he hadn't seen this side of her before. He patiently waited for her to collect her bearings before saying anything else.

Fortunately for the impatient man he was, he didn't have to wait too long.

"When I left for America," she began, "I was so scared…"

Despite not following the path the conversation was taking, he nodded in acknowledgement. This he knew; in the weeks prior to her departure, she had confided in him that she was revoltingly afraid of the future. It was a concept that was hard for him to grasp at first. Hilary Tachibana, the girl with stars in her eyes – the one person he _knew_ would be able to do anything, had she wanted to exercise that right – despised the thought of leaving her hometown for an incredible opportunity.

It was one of the few times that Tyson had witnessed Hilary's vulnerability, a secret hidden beneath the façade of confidence, something she had kept a secret for as long as they had known each other.

"I was scared of change, mainly," Hilary murmured, continuing her thoughts, "I was afraid that I would miss out on so much here while I was studying…"

The ambient glow of the lights played off of the angles of her face, illuminating her cheekbones while simultaneously masking her eyes. She looked eerily sad, her gaze following the edges of each individual slab of hardwood on the floor.

"But you," she breathed, "you said 'It'll be fine, Hil, I promise.' You told me that nothing would change, that it would be the same when I chose to come back. You told me that _everyone_ would be waiting here for me when I got back."

The newly appearing frown on Tyson's face deepened. The words he had told her that day were words he had memorized, words he had ingrained into his brain. The promise was one he was determined to keep. It was important to her; it was important to her future that she go to America, but important that she had the peace of mind while doing it. The normalcy was oftentimes difficult to maintain, especially between his own classes, taking over some duties at his aging grandfather's dojo, and still working in the time to teach _and_ train beyblading. Still, he had been doing a good job at it during every visit of hers…

Or so he thought.

"Then I'm watching the World Championships on television, the first one that I'm not there to _support_ you, or _help_ you," she raised her voice, each word enunciated with a certain sharpness, "and you _fucking_ almost get _killed_ you God-damn _fucking idiot_,"

He didn't know what to say. He was mostly taken aback by the unexpected confession, although the overwhelming temptation to wrap her in his arms was creeping in on him. But he stood in the same place, anchored to one spot, watching as the girl clawed at her flushed cheeks to messily remove the free-flowing angry tears.

"And it made me think, about how _nothing_ would ever be the same if you weren't around. How not _everyone_ would be there to welcome me back. You would have broken your _fucking_ promise." She stopped momentarily to shake off her heels somewhat angrily and stomped over to him. Jabbing an accusing finger to his chest, she continued, "so _excuse_ me for taking the first plane out of there, showing up here past midnight, and slapping your _fucking_ face to make sure that you were real and not some _fucking_ dream."

Hilary stopped, and he listened to her ragged breathing for a moment quietly. He seemed to be stuck between a rock and a hard place – or rather, between a wooden wall and a near-hysterical girl. Tyson knew he needed to take the right approach.

Too bad for him, his brain was already asleep.

"So, did your American students teach you all those swear words, or…?"

"Ty_son_!" was the screeching response, a bittersweet memory of their childhood together. It still caused him to flinch, as it did back when they were just young teens, practicing beyblading with the team in the dead of summer. Her voice, jingly as it was normally, had that ability to become painfully shrill on occasion. That occasion being himself.

He was doing it again…

"Fucking Tyson," he heard her fume, and he snapped out of his thoughts in time to see a resigned look drift across her face. She turned on her heels and stalked off in the opposite direction, scooping up her discarded shoes. "I'm leaving, asshole."

Tyson sidestepped to block the door beside him and yawned somewhat loudly, stretching his arms and placing them behind his head. He leaned back casually and gave his infuriated companion a stare down.

"Did anyone tell you that you look really good today?"

The question caught Hilary off guard, and for a moment he saw surprise fill the abyss of her round scarlet eyes. The sentiment was so fleeting that it disappeared as quickly as it came, although the slight flush to her cheeks remained.

"What the hell is your problem, Tyson?"

"What?" he shrugged, his lips curling into a frown, "Am I not allowed to say stuff, too?"

Hilary paused for a moment, confusion stirring across her delicate features.

"You know, I don't get you, Tys," she finally sighed, the exasperation clearly showing. "I've known you for five years now, and I still don't know why you say or do certain things. And I still don't understand…" she hesitated, "why everything you do makes _me_ so angry…it's honestly exhausting."

"You know what I think your problem is?"

"I don't really want to know what you think," she let out a huff of air in annoyance, "but I think you're going to tell me anyway…"

"I think you know me _too_ well." Hilary shot him what appeared to be a dirty look, although Tyson paid no mind to her and continued. "Think about it," he suggested, "everyone else has got me pegged. I'm the dumb jock. That jerk that cusses out opponents during a beybattle," he smirked a little at the thought, "Or even that extremely handsome dude with a big head. Although…" he cocked his head, letting a mock pout grace his face, "I don't get the big head part…"

"Yeah, that one is a mystery…" She rolled her eyes, although the ghost of a smile was faint across her lips. "Your point?"

"You know there's more to me," Tyson replied, trying to hold back a smile when she scoffed impatiently in response, "I'm not one of those to you. I'm more _complex_." The word rolled off of his tongue, and he clung to it for a tad longer as he watched her expression vaguely change. "Face it, Hil. I'm right. Admit it."

"I'm…losing it," she murmured. "I think I've spent too much time with you…because that kind of made…actual sense…" Hilary paused for a moment. "Well, except for the complex part. You're still pretty simple."

This time, his pout was genuine. "Hey, I can be complex!"

She let out a laugh. The almost-melodic tone was a comfort, and he felt himself easing up. Things were just more normal, more right. Her laugh told him that things were okay, and it somehow gave him a subtle wordless reassurance.

"You know, Hil," his voice dropped, almost to a whisper, "I would never, you know…" he struggled with his words, "break my promise to you…"

"I…know, Tys."

He watched as she slowly padded over to him. Even though he knew it was coming, felt his body stiffen in surprise when she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close in a hug. He melted into the nostalgic embrace, wrapping his arms around her in return.

"I was just…_so_ scared. I didn't want to lose you…" she breathed.

"No beyblader is going to kill me," was his sharp response, "_especially_ not one who wasn't _that_ good…"

"Tys, I watched the match. He almost _won_. You're not some supreme beyblading hero, stop acting like one."

"Fucking hell, Hil. I can't have my moment around you, can I?"

She smiled back at him, a slight twinkle in her eye. "What's with that language, Tys? Pick up a few things while I was gone?"

Tyson stared at her a moment, before pulling away slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, placing it by his ear. "Hello, pot? It's kettle here…"

"God, Tys, you are the most infuriating person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," she sighed.

He grinned back at her. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Hil."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Aside – Tyson/Hilary dynamic always reminds me of that song "True Love" by Pink. And as always, thanks so much for reading! Makes me so happy, :).


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